


Steve is a Fuckin Hot Ghost, Okay?

by itsmylifekay, WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, M/M, bucky barnes is a big scaredy cat, steve is a lil shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s that time of year again. Changing leaves. Hay rides. Haunted houses that scare Bucky so much that his friends have never been able to get him to set foot in one. It would be fine if it wasn’t a yearly tradition...being within arm’s reach of entering the house and then having Bucky wimp out at the last second. But this year is different. This year he’s going to prove to himself that he can do it, even if he’s doing it by himself. Or maybe, he realizes after nearly fainting from the new presence of one Steve Rogers behind him, he doesn’t necessarily have to be alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve is a Fuckin Hot Ghost, Okay?

 

It’s that time of year again. Changing leaves. Hay rides. Haunted houses that scare Bucky so much that his friends have never been able to get him to set foot in one.

He does his best...he really does, giving it the ol’ college try the entire time they wait in line to enter the house. Natasha will try to busy his mind with something else. Clint will just roll his eyes and wait for the inevitable to happen. But as each minute passes, Bucky’s imagination gets the best of him and his nerves climb until he grows more and more _desperate_. They’re usually half an hour into waiting before his anxiety takes over and he backs out, saying something along the lines of: “Okay, just kidding, fuck this,” and not so casually walking back towards the car (whether they follow him or not - he really does not give one shit). It would be fine if it wasn’t a yearly tradition...being within arm’s reach and then having Bucky wimp out at the last second.

Last year was the final straw. They had gotten _so close_ to making it. The door was _right_ fucking there. (He didn’t even bitch that much while they waited.) But then the door opened and the next batch of people started being taken in, and Bucky’s fight or flight instincts kicked in with full force. Except when he went to high tail it out of line, Clint had grabbed him - fucking _tossed_ him over his shoulder with the intent to carry his ass into that hell hole once and for all - as if that wasn’t going to induce a whole other level of sheer panic.

Needless to say, Bucky had screamed bloody murder, a tidal wave of curses spilling from his mouth as he struggled against Clint’s hold.

Needless to say, he eventually caused such a commotion that the owners had to ask them to leave. All of them.

Needless to say, Natasha and Clint don’t ask Bucky if he wants to go to the haunted house anymore. Which is why Bucky is standing here, alone (well, except for the strangers around him), hands stuffed in his pockets as he stares up at the dreaded two-story in an attempt to psyche himself up for trying to take on this demon alone. Because if he doesn’t at least _try_ every year, then he really _is_ a wimp.

But yeah...coming here without friends...a little scarier. Being last in line, having his whole backside out in the open and vulnerable to all manner of scary shit...a little scarier too. But he can do it. He can do it.

“I can do it,” he says under his breath, trying not to notice the blood curdling scream that just cut through one of the windows in the house. “Just a scare tactic. Trying to get you riled up before you even get in there. You’re fine, Barnes.”

Because he is. He’s fine. He’s got this shit in the bag. No problem at all.

“First timer, then?”

Bucky’s heart dips in his chest, his whole body tensing as a voice pops up out of nowhere behind him. He turns on his heels, glancing back with a very _not_ eloquent: “Jesus Christ,” as his eyes land on what is most likely a ghost that has resurrected itself to haunt the shit out of Bucky’s pathetic life.

After further observation...it’s not a ghost. It’s a guy. A short guy. A short guy who has somehow managed to make the pasty white face paint necessary for a ghostly complexion look beyond attractive.

And Bucky just nearly lost his shit in front of him. Great start.

“Uh,” he swallows, doing his best to seem at least a little bit put together and answer the question at the same time, “No it’s--...well yeah. It’s my first time actually...going in...the house…” He’s not sure why his voice trails off like that, but the way this guy is looking up at him makes Bucky’s stomach hurt for a whole other reason.

“Gotcha…” Steve lifts an eyebrow and observes the guy in front of him, finally able to see his face, and takes in just how scared he apparently is. Which, Steve isn’t exactly _surprised_ per say, but he’s honestly confused why the guy’s here at all if he’s so worked up about it. Being scared for the thrill of it, sure, but the panic in this guy’s eyes is _actual_ fear. “Lose a bet or something?” He asks, because that’s really the only explanation he can think of, that or some kind of dare.

Bucky forces a chuckle, hoping to God that it sounds more convincing than it feels. If only it were a bet. If only he wasn’t here because he’s apparently some sort of masochist who feels the need to prove this to himself. “More like...friends think I can’t do it. But I can. I’ve got this.” Oh Christ, now he’s flowing back into the whole self-pep-talk mode. “It won’t be too bad,” he lies. And that’s probably even less convincing.

“Right,” Steve nods along, deciding to not let on to just how obviously this guy is broadcasting his discomfort. “Just remember that there’s no real monsters, everyone in there is just a paid actor.” He shrugs and looks back up to the house as another patron shrieks from inside. “Well, almost everyone. Some people actually pay to go inside.” He lets out a humorless laugh and cracks some of the tightness from his neck, turning back to the guy in front of him and having to stop himself from laughing at the horrified look on his face.

And really, who can blame Bucky? He’s standing here, already scared shitless, and then this guy just pops up behind him looking all ghosty and saying shit like that. So how is he supposed to _not_ look completely horrified? “I know they’re not real monsters…” he decides to focus on instead. “Doesn’t make it any less creepy, though. They’re still jumping out at you.”

Not that he’d really know from experience since he hasn’t actually stepped foot inside the house yet... It’s more of an assumption. These people are getting paid to scare him and he can only assume that they’re going to give it their all.

“Suppose that’s true.” Steve allows. “But try to think of it as a challenge, these are real people, yeah? So they’re probably going to go into some back room at the end of the night and make fun of all the worst walkthroughs, so you’ve got to prove ‘em wrong. Show ‘em you can do it.”

Visions of the workers all huddled up together, laughing their asses off at him flood Bucky’s brain. “Not fucking helping…” he says, brow furrowed with discomfort. “Who taught you how to give a pep talk?” And more importantly, why is Bucky listening to a pep talk from a damn ghost?

Steve shrugs. “Taught myself I guess. Maybe my mom had something to do with it. But it’s not my fault the same things don’t work for you.” He cocks his head to the side and listens as the scary music track that’s been playing from tinny speakers turns over, more of the same preprocessed screams and ghoulish laughs filtering out to the waiting line. “Maybe you’d rather I say something about how the workers aren’t actually allowed to touch you, and half of the stuff in there is going to consist of cheap plastic skeletons and unconvincing severed heads? Or that there’s no fog or mist like in the movies so you’ll be able to see pretty clearly?”

“Yeah,” Bucky decides, stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie again and nodding. “Tell me more stuff like that. And tell me what your name is too.” Because he can’t keep referring to this guy as Hot Ghost in his head.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve holds out a hand, following the proper manners his mama taught him. “And I’d be happy to tell you anything you want to know, but I think we’re gonna be up pretty soon. Also, should probably get your name too. Just so I know what to tell the paramedics when you have a heart attack.”

Right on cue, the line begins to crawl forward, the impending doom striking fear into Bucky’s heart like a dagger. But he schools his face. Tries not to let it show. Tries to start shuffling up with the line like his nerves aren’t flying in every direction.

“Bucky,” he says, distinctly ignoring that remark about the paramedics. He’s about to defend his honor when another scream cuts through the air. And...yeah...maybe he _is_ going to need that paramedic. “This is dumb…” he says to himself under his breath. Because now is about the time when his entire resolve crumbles, everything he had built for himself falling apart as they near the door. “Fucking stupid...why am I here…?”

“Well, you said something earlier about proving your friends wrong.” Steve offers, but judging by the look on Bucky’s face he’s going to need something a bit more convincing than that. “But maybe you just need to prove something to yourself.” They shuffle forward a few more steps and are almost to the porch. They’re definitely going to be in this group, probably the very last to go through until they send in the next batch. (That could go one of two ways, either the screamers in front of them will alert them to what’s coming or all the actors will wait and make their lives especially miserable. Steve is suddenly even more worried for Bucky’s heart.)

“Fuck, what’s that face for?” Bucky frowns, his gut suddenly feeling even more twisted as his eyes land on Steve’s expression. “What’s that fucking face for? That’s not a good face.”

“It might not be anything.” Steve hedges. Because really, he’s _not_ sure where they’re going to fall in line. He just has a very strong suspicion.

“ _Might_? It _might_ not be anything?” Because this is 100% not what Bucky needs right now. Not from his motivational ghost speaker.

“It might even be a good thing,” Steve tries again, gaze flickering over the renewed terror on Bucky’s face and a twinge of a smile threatening to curl his lips.

“ _Might_? Might is not a good word to use here, Steve,” Bucky is beginning to feel that twinge of panic in his chest. “Stop fucking saying ‘might’ unless you have some sort of concrete shit to tell me.”

Steve blows out a breath, unable to help the eye roll as he says, “Look, I’m just trying to gauge where we’re going to fall in line, okay? Nothing more than that. It’s gonna be fine, so you can calm down.”

Fall in line? Fall in line? What the fuck is this guy talking about? “You’re the one who just sprung this shit on me out of nowhere! You’re supposed to be my pep talker!”

“I’m a random guy you met in line,” Steve throws back, eyebrow raised incredulously. “Be glad you’re not going through by yourself.”

Bucky runs both hands through his hair as he forces himself to take a deep breath, eyes scanning the amount of people in front of them. “You’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry I take it back don’t leave me please.” It all comes out in one clusterfuck of a plea, but Bucky is too busy trying to get his heartbeat under control to care.

Steve just pats his arm consolingly. “Don’t worry, not gonna leave you. I’m not that much of an asshole.” He throws Bucky a crooked smile just in time for a scream to come peeling out of the second story, followed by the workers at the entrance ushering the next group forward. He gives Bucky’s arm an extra squeeze. “And it looks like we’re up.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck they are. They’re up. “Uh,” panic mode is starting, Bucky can feel it, “Uhh actually I think I left my phone in my car.”

“Really?” Steve deadpans. “Then what’s that in your pocket?” Because Bucky can leave if he wants to, but he’s gotta come up with a better excuse than that.

But Bucky has already moved on, nerves spiking too dramatically to even remember the last bullshit thing he said. And then they’re walking up onto the porch - or rather he’s being pushed onto the porch, which is an issue all on its own.

“Steve,” he turns quickly, in dire need of some sort of confidence boost and instead getting his first well-lit look at Steve’s makeup. Turns out, it’s worse in the light. Turns out, there’s blood and weird black shit and a whole lot of other stuff that sends Bucky’s heart straight into his throat as he nearly shrieks, “What the fuck? Steve what the fuck is on your face Jesus fucking Christ!”

And yeah, okay, Steve may try to be a good person but he’s no saint, and there’s no way of stopping himself from bursting out laughing at Bucky’s frantic questioning. “It’s just makeup, Buck. Calm down.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and rubs it against his temple, smearing makeup and fake blood over his knuckles. “See?”

Bucky glances down at the pigment all over his hand before allowing himself the time to get over that specific panic. Okay so...Hot Ghost Steve is not actually a ghost and that’s fucking great and all but they’re still moving forward and the door to the house is right there and oh fuck-- “We’re next. We’re next, Steve.” His voice is about three octaves too high. “Steve.”

“Yeah, Bucky.” Steve says patiently. “I can see that.” The worker at the door glances between him and Bucky and grins before holding open the door with a sing-songed _enjoy your stay._ And Steve steps through, Bucky not long after seeing as he’s still mostly not-so-subtly plastered to Steve’s side, and then the door slams shut with an echo of hollow laughter. Which, predictable. As predictable as the fact that it’s dark, _really_ dark, with just two dim strips of lights on either side of the hallway showing them where to go. (Steve is all ready to sprint off into the self-named House of Terrors but he has pity on Bucky and glances up at him to judge how he’s feeling.) “You ready to go?”

“This is it,” Bucky is in his own little world, curled up into himself as he does his best to bite down the screams that are trying to push their way up. “This is how I die. In the first room of a haunted house with Hot Ghost Steve. I’m gonna die. Fuck, I’m gonna die.”

“Did you just call me-” Steve shakes his head, decides to leave that comment for later. “You’re not going to die,” He says instead. “Worse comes to worst, I’ll just have to save you. Carry you out before the monsters get you.” He elbows Bucky’s side and starts walking in, turning around so he can keep watching the emotions flash across Bucky’s face. “It’ll be fine, won’t let anything bad happen.”

Bucky wants to find comfort in that-- _really really really_ wants to find comfort in that--but it’s hard with the way Steve is walking fucking _backwards_ through the first hallway where all the worst shit probably happens. And how can Steve protect him if he’s making dumb as shit decisions like that? “Fucking--will you fucking _turn around_ I swear to God…” he bites, pushing himself to move forward so he can catch up and practically latch himself back onto Steve. It’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan and Bucky will _not_ be caught without his safety net.

Steve just laughs, but humors Bucky nonetheless and turns so he’s facing forward again, leading them both through the first hallway with Bucky’s hands clutching at his shirt. “Look, we’re already through there. You’re fine.” But no sooner are the words out of his mouth than an electronically produced scream about blows out his left eardrum and a floodlight turns on across the room, illuminating a woman strapped down and thrashing on a table, blood pouring down onto the floor.

The whole thing is rather overdone, in his opinion, but Bucky is currently working on destroying the hearing in Steve’s other ear.

“FUCK,” he yells, too startled to notice how desperately he clings to Steve. “FUCK THAT.” And then he’s pulling Steve back in the direction they came. “NO. FUCK THIS.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries, digging in his heels and refusing to be pulled any farther. “Bucky come on, the scream didn’t even come from the right direction and no person can produce that much blood. It’s _fake._ And it’s not like she’s coming to get you…” He snorts at his own terrible joke and starts tugging in the opposite direction, towards the door on the opposite side of the room. “Now let’s _go_. You’re already here, might as well finish it.”

It’s a struggle. A _struggle_. But Bucky lets the words settle over him. Steve’s right. He’s here. He’s doing this. _Finally_ after all these years. He can’t just check out now (no matter how badly he wants to).

“Fuck,” he groans, averting his eyes from both the woman convulsing in front of them and Steve’s stare. “Fuck, I hate you.” But he lets Steve pull him forward, his grasp on Steve’s shirt tightening as they pass the woman.

“No you don’t,” Steve says, opening the door and closing his eyes against the blast of stale air against his face. He hip checks Bucky away from the door and prays for the sake of his still ringing ears that he hadn’t gotten a glimpse of the zombie-actor standing all of two centimeters away. “And you especially better not hate me after this…” he grumbles, staring the zombie-actor down and tilting his head to the side. “Since I’m sacrificing my own amusement for the sake of your lifespan. But really, you can even see the face paint flaking off where he’s been scratching at his jaw. And the brains coming out of his head...you can see the skull cap they’re connected to. Not scary. I’ll give it a B for effort though.”

Bucky swallows roughly, taking a second to glance over at the zombie for a brief half a second before mumbling, “Yeah okay great,” and pushing Steve forward. Because it’s only a matter of time before this zombie guy is going to lash out at him or some crazy shit like that and Bucky would rather not be here for that. Plus whatever this room has in store for them is probably a lot worse than a dude with flaking face paint. So the sooner they move on, the sooner they get through this. And that is Bucky’s entire mind set now. “C’mon,” he says lowly, pressing himself against Steve’s back in an attempt to move him quicker.

“Oh, okay, so _now_ you’re all ready to go. Fine.” Steve drags his feet a bit, just to screw with Bucky because c’mon how can you _not_? But he does nudge the zombie-actor out of the way, maneuvering them so that he’s always between Bucky and the still groaning ‘brain-eater’. And things are going well like that, until a second actor stumbles over from the opposite direction and there’s no way he can split himself in two. “Bucky…” he says calmly. “I’m going to need you to hold on, okay?”

And fuck, that doesn’t sound even a little okay. “ _What_?” Bucky’s eyes are wide, scanning the area for whatever the hell Steve sees but he doesn’t. The fact that Bucky can’t figure out what’s probably right on top of him is a little more than unsettling. “Why, what the fuck is happening?”

“There’s another one, and I take it you want me to keep staying between you and the actors, but it’s going to take some dodging so _hold on._ ” Steve hisses in a rush, not exactly wanting the approaching people to know what they’re planning, because they’d probably just ruin it and make Bucky go running. He takes a step back and to the left, eyes tracking the actors and scanning for the most effective route to the door.

“Shit…” Bucky utters under his breath, 110% sure that his heart shouldn’t be beating this hard, yet here he is. But he does what he’s told - grabs Steve’s hand (and he guesses that’s not what Steve meant by the way he just kind of glances back at him with this _look_ ) but then he does his best to follow Steve’s movements as he weaves through the actors with concerning ease.

When they finally reach the door, Steve yanks it open with one hand and whips Bucky through the entrance before he can complain, using the death grip Bucky’s currently got on him to keep them together as he slams the door behind them. He’s pretty sure he can hear his knuckles grinding together as Bucky takes in the severed body parts lying all over the floor, hanging from the ceiling, nailed to the walls.... The aesthetic is on the right track, but the props could definitely use some wo-

“Oh shit. The fuck is that?”

Bucky’s grip tightens (Steve doesn’t know how, honestly, he was already worried about getting his fingers out of this intact _before)_ with the question and Steve follows his gaze, letting out an amused chuckle as he sees a ‘werewolf’ rising from the ground. There’s blood dripping from its jaws and a ‘half-eaten’ mass of something hanging from its claws and Steve...okay he’ll admit it he’s kind of impressed. They’ve done a great job taking the eye away from the decomposing mannequin body waiting to fly at them from the far wall.

“That, would be a werewolf. But do me a favor and close your eyes in…” He squints and takes a step forward, triggering the pressure mechanism in the floor. “Now.” The body swings forward, stopping a foot away, and Steve carefully pushes it to the side before leading them forward. Closer to the wolf, which he’s sure Bucky won’t be happy about, but Steve figures he’s done the best he could given the circumstances. “Okay you can open ‘em again, if you followed my advice to begin with.”

He _had,_ though. Bucky _had_ followed his advice. Because deep down, the little part of inner-Bucky that isn’t busy being scared to death realizes that Steve is his lifeline through this shitshow - that Steve is his only hope at getting through this thing with even a shred of self respect still left. So he doesn’t question Steve. Not once. Because it’s pretty fucking clear that Steve knows what he’s doing.

“Okay,” he says, not exactly sure what he’s saying it for as he peeks out of one eye, then the other, then wastes no time in training them on the back of Steve’s head because they’re getting close to that damn werewolf and Bucky is not about that. So he just keeps moving forward, gaze trained ahead and shoulders tense and one hand clutching at the back of Steve’s shirt, the other probably cutting off all circulation in Steve’s fingers.  

They keep walking forward and Steve is still smiling at the way Bucky is clinging to him, had apparently closed his eyes like he’d asked and is basically acting like a frightened child hiding behind Steve’s metaphorical skirt. It’s as amusing as it is adorable, and Steve can’t help but laugh at the way Bucky jumps slightly when the werewolf throws back its head and howls. “C’mon, Bucky!” He grins. “Gotta see the fun in it.” And then he tips his own head back and joins in the howling, loud and shameless as they approach the door.

Bucky wants to cry - his safety net quickly becoming just as fucking crazy as the things he’s protecting him from. But there’s still enough common sense left in Bucky to notice that it’s actually the tiniest bit amusing, and actually a little cute too. But mostly, Bucky’s putting his life in the hands of a lunatic, is what this is. “Yeah...” he mumbles. “...so much fun…”

The werewolf offers them a final growl as Steve opens the door, but then everything is muffled and quiet, ears as useless as their eyes when they enter the next area of the house. There’s a single greenish glow coming from the top of a staircase, just enough to give them direction, but between here and there...they’ve no way of seeing what they’re walking into. So, basically, their minds are left to fill in whatever terrors they think might be waiting based on the last few rooms they’ve been through. It’s as genius in that aspect as it is in how it cuts costs. But Bucky doesn’t seem to get that, seeing as he’s hyperventilating into Steve’s hair and making the back of Steve’s neck uncomfortably warm. “Bucky,” Steve sighs. “C’mon, there’s nothing even here.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Bucky says quietly, almost a whimper, “That’s what they fucking _want_ you to think before they jump out and kill you. Fucking--...what’s in here? What’s fucking in here, Steve? Something’s gotta be here.” It’s this sort of crazed, unhealthy chant that Bucky sets up for himself, voice barely a whisper so that whatever _is_ in here won’t hear him. “Steve…”

“I already _told_ you. Nothing’s in here.” Steve starts to lead them forward, basically dragging Bucky towards the stairs. “And even if something is, they’ll just jump out at me, it’s too narrow for them to get by me and scare you. So c’mon, let’s get up the stairs, almost half way.”

Bucky frowns, unconvinced. “Whatever, we’re gonna die.” But he follows anyway - somehow always ends up following even when his instincts tell him to run far away. “Jesus Christ…”

The stairs creak as they begin their ascent, a particularly loud step nearly sending them both toppling back down when Bucky yanks so hard on Steve’s shirt in surprise that he nearly loses his balance. “Bucky,” Steve sighs. “Do you realize that the only thing in here that can kill us right now is you? Calm down.”

Bucky straightens himself, the sheer panic of almost falling now disappearing. What a way to go...not by the psycho monsters in a haunted house, but by falling ass-backwards down a flight of stairs in a room that doesn’t even have anything in it. That would be Bucky’s luck.

When they finally reach the top of the stairs, Bucky lets out a (probably premature) sigh of relief, tangling his fingers with Steve’s again and mumbling, “Okay. There really _isn’t_ anything in here…”

“Told you,” Steve says, then steps forward and pushes at the next door. “But there definitely _is_ going to be something in here. So try not to rip my hand off, if you can.” He’s smirking as he says it, because it’s as much a tease as it is an attempt to distract Bucky just enough to keep him from freaking out as they cross the threshold and the door shuts behind them.

And it’s a doll room, rows upon rows of chipping painted faces and unblinking eyes, all strategically lit for maximum creepy effect. There’s even a laughing marionette hanging just beside the door and a whisper track crackling out of speakers hidden near the ceiling.

And that’s--...Bucky can kind of...maybe...deal with dolls. Because dolls are creepy and everything, like _really_ creepy, but: “Whatever,” he says, confidence beginning to creep back into his voice for the first time since stepping foot inside this stupid house. “Not that scary.”

Not convinced that Bucky knows what he’s talking about but willing to work with it for the moment, Steve begins leading them through the room before Bucky can change his mind. “Well I’m glad you think that,” he says casually. “Suppose you’re not going to be scared of _her_ either?” He inclines his head towards an actress slumped in the corner of the room, dressed up like a doll with wires attached to her wrists and ankles. At the moment, she’s merely looking at the floor, but Steve knows that’s going to change as soon as they walk by. Also, he’s surprised Bucky hasn’t noticed the three dolls following their progress through the room, but a good kind of surprised. Maybe Bucky’s making progress after all.

“Fuck, she’s gonna move isn’t she?” Bucky sighs, that distinct pang of fear returning in his chest. Just when he thought he’d gotten even a little bit of a handle on this. “She’s gonna fucking move as soon as we do.” It’s the zombie all over again. And the werewolf. And all the other stuff that did a really great job at scaring the ever-living shit out of him. “How do we--” He’s going to say _how do we get around her_ , but the words never leave his mouth. Because that’s when he hears a voice, whispering, right by his goddamn ear. “Jesus!” Bucky flinches, his entire body going tense as he jerks his head away and slams his eyes shut, not even interested in seeing whoever made the noise.

And Steve can’t help it, he really can’t, he just starts cackling under his breath and reaches around to pat at Bucky’s arm. “Alright, Buck. Alright. Just follow me, I’ll get us out.” He keeps tugging Bucky forward, passing the actress who does in fact leap at them, eyes open wide and hands grasping as a muffled shriek comes from the speakers. “She just jumped at us, so you’re safe there.” He says, smirking at the actress as he pulls open the door. “Just a bit left, you can do it.”

“Just a bit left,” Bucky chants to himself, not even realizing he’s doing it as he wills his heart to stop beating so quickly. He’s going to have a damn heart attack before this night ends. There’s no doubt about it. “Just a bit left...just a bit left…”

“That’s right,” Steve croons, suppressing another laugh. Because really, it’s like chaperoning a preschooler. Bucky needs leading like a preschooler, handholding like a preschooler...and is actually really cute like a preschooler. The comparison definitely fits. “Now, we’re in another room.” Redundant observation, considering the new wave of sounds assaulting them on all sides: the majority of which coming from the actor trapped in the clear box screaming bloody murder. Actually, screaming something specific... _Turn around!!!_ Steve’s eyes widen and he grips Bucky’s hand as hard as possible, flinging him to the side and slamming him into the wall just before the creepy Joker knock off springs from his hiding place. Steve blows out a breath. “Sorry about that, should’ve given you more warning. There’s two people in the room with us...both they’ve both already done their scaring. There’s gonna be another by the door though.”

Bucky’s eyes are still squeezed shut, his shoulders so tense that he’s sure they’ll never go back to the way they’re supposed to be for the rest of his life. His chest hurts and his ears are ringing and his entire body has started shaking. And there’s more, apparently. Another person by the door, which is just fucking great. Maybe this time he won’t get slammed into a wall. “Just take me out. Take me out, Steve.” He’s nearly frantic now. “I’m so done. I’m done I’m done I’m done.”

“Yup, just one more room.” Steve grins, fully aware that that’s not what Bucky meant. But he has confidence in Bucky, believes he can make it to the end if he’s gotten this far. So he keeps them moving forward, says a loud, “You can do it, Buck!” right as the next person lunges for them, masking most of the resulting noise and easily sidestepping the actor on his way towards the door.

And then they’re in the final room: a bedroom with a TV flickering on and off against the wall, nearly pitch black with only a bit of light filtering in from the partially opened blinds. He lets out a contemplative hum. “Eerie, very eerie. I’d say well done.” Then the TV flashes bright, illuminating the room with a harsh, unnatural glow and revealing the prone and bloody figure sprawled out across the bed. “Ah, even better. Not truly a horror scene until there’s a dead body involved.” The blood is splattered over the conveniently white sheets and onto the equally stark white walls. A messily scrawled _Beware_ written just above the headboard. Steve snorts. “Okay, that’s just overkill.” Busy chuckling at his own joke, he forgets to warn Bucky of the impending jump-scare, meaning Bucky is not prepared for the sudden sound of a chainsaw firing up not even two feet away.

It’s loud and it’s startling and it sends Bucky nearly through the roof, his heart dipping so far into his chest that it hurts as his eyes fly open just in time to see the man charging at them, chainsaw at the ready. And no. Bucky’s not going to die today. Not like this. Not after all he’s been through.

“FUCK THIS,” he shouts, his voice cracking unceremoniously before wrapping his arms around Steve and hoisting him up, carrying them both across the room as fast as humanly possible (which is fucking difficult because it’s so dark and Bucky doesn’t know where the hell he’s going in the first place).

Steve is shouting something at him but Bucky is in the zone, eyes finally landing on the door - their escape route - and then he’s barreling towards it. The chainsaw revs behind them again, a truly disturbing laugh coming from the man carrying it. But then Bucky’s wrenching the door open, throwing both Steve and himself through it, and then slamming it shut with his foot.

“Bucky!” Steve yells again. “Bucky put me down right now or I swear I will kill you myself!” Because no one picks up Steve Rogers, no one, not without expressed written consent signed by the President of the United States of America and Steve better be bleeding out and missing over half of his limbs. He swats at Bucky’s head and kicks his legs to try and get down. “Seriously, down. Bucky, c’mon…” There’s still no response, and they’re out in the hall again, just at the top of the stairs. He heaves a sigh and tries a different approach. “Bucky, drop it. _Drop_ it.”

Everything is starting to ease back into real time for Bucky now, the sound of the chainsaw almost completely muffled by the door. And now they’re back in the hallway somehow. Which works for him, because that means they’re alone again. No chainsaws. No dolls. Just them. He collapses back, his head hitting the wood as he lets Steve clamber awkwardly out of his grasp. “Just fucking-...” he pants, “...saved our lives…you ungrateful asshole...”

“No, just about killed us yourself.” Steve shoots back, patting down his rumpled shirt and shaking his head. “They’re not actually allowed to do anything to us. You, on the other hand, could’ve easily tripped and sent us both tumbling down the stairs to our deaths. But it’s okay,  I appreciate the sentiment. Just try to think it through a bit more next time and never, _never_ pick me up again.”

Bucky lets his eyes shut, still leaning against the door and trying to catch his breath as he huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Next time…” he echoes. Like there will _ever_ fucking be a next time for him. “That’s cute.”

“Never know,” Steve shrugs. “We could bump into each other on the subway and there might be an actual chainsaw murderer there.”

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and then straightening himself until he’s standing again. “Sure you wouldn’t want me to pick you up then?” He starts his descent down the stairs that lead out, renewed with confidence after his valiant brush with death. “Bet I run faster than you anyway.”

“Uh huh…” Steve scoffs. “I can run just fine. But I wouldn’t have to, seeing as I’d be smart enough to avoid it. Wouldn’t walk right into a trap like you’re about to.”

Bucky doesn’t even have time to turn around and throw Steve a questioning glare - doesn’t even have time for that “Huh?” that hangs on his tongue to see the light of day before there’s a woman popping out of the shadows at him, half of the skin on her face hanging off as she lets out a deafening scream.

Bucky collapses - fucking drops to the ground right then and there, his arms coming up to shield himself from her. He doesn’t even make a noise. _Can’t_. Not with his heart in his goddamn throat. All he can do is sit there, in a heap, and hope to God that he didn’t just bruise his tailbone from falling back onto his ass like that.

And Steve absolutely _loses_ it, laughing so hard tears come to the corners of his eyes. “Oh, wow. Wow, that was… Oh Bucky… I’m so sorry but, no, I’m not sorry. That was hilarious.” He laughs his way down a few steps and stoops down to help Bucky to his feet. “It’s alright, we’re done now. We’re done. She got her scare, you don’t have to worry anymore.”

The light above the door flicks on, illuminating the exit sign as a computerized voice tells them to have a great night and please watch their step. The actress has disappeared back to her original hiding space. But Bucky...is still just standing there staring blankly into space. Steve gives his arm an experimental tug. “C’mon, Buck. The door’s right there.”

Steve’s voice registers, Bucky’s brain apparently getting it together after completely shutting down from that last scare. He looks at Steve, eyes wide as he’s pulled out into the cool night air. Then...there’s the moon. And the stars. And the sound of other people waiting in line a little ways away. Bucky blinks...unsure. “Is...is it over?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “Yeah, it’s o-”

“ ** _It’s not over until you scream, Rogers!_** ”

Two more actors suddenly jump out in front of them, fake blood dripping down their stitched up faces as they get right up on Steve and push him back into Bucky’s chest.

“C’mon guys,” Steve sighs, giving the two scarers an eyeroll before turning around and trying to coax Bucky out of his most recent panic. “It’s okay, Bucky. It’s just a couple of idiots. You’re fine.”

The actors take a step back and cross their arms. One of them muttering a, “Damnit, Steve.” while the other just shakes their head and says, “How is that even possible? Did he even blink? I don’t think I even saw him blink.”

And Bucky...Bucky just stands there, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed and suddenly very _very_ confused. He pushes at Steve’s shoulder, getting his attention before holding his arms out, voice a few octaves too high again. “Um, what the _fuck_?” Because suddenly everyone knows Steve now? Everyone’s all buddy buddy? What the fuck is even happening here?

“What?” Steve asks, arching an eyebrow.

Bucky is dumbstruck. “‘ _What?’_ Don’t you fucking ‘ _what’_ me, Steve. Why are you suddenly best buds with the people who’re trying to kill us?”

“There’s no ‘suddenly’, Bucky. I’ve known Sam and Peggy for years.” Steve shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re freaking out about.”

And that...that just does not compute with Bucky. Not after having the life scared out of him and his emotions drained from his very soul tonight. He glances at the two people still standing there. Then Steve. Then them. Then Steve again. “I’m so confused…”

Finally, Sam steps forward and claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry about all this, man. But Steve here’s a good friend of ours, had to try to scare him a bit.”

“That’s right. And since he would already know what was coming inside, we thought we’d try our luck out here.” Peggy smiles ruefully at Bucky. “Unfortunately, you got caught in the crosshairs. Although, Steve... You had to have known something like this was coming…”

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “Poor guy looks like he’s about to pass out, don’t know why you brought him along for the ride.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t know you guys were going to try _quite_ so hard. And he wouldn’t have even set foot in the house if I hadn’t agreed to be his chaperone. I about had him running scared just from my face paint,” he grins, then turns and nudges Bucky’s arm. “Isn’t that right?”

But Bucky’s too busy still trying to catch up to be offended. “Wait, so…” he says slowly, connecting the dots at a snail’s pace. “You’ve been here before?”

“Bucky,” Steve says slowly. “I _work_ here.”

Bucky stares at him. Unblinking. “...what?”

“Yeah, usually _I’m_ the one scaring people just before they leave but it’s my night off.” He scratches at a bit of face paint flaking off at his jaw. “I figured I could come by and check things out from a patron’s perspective. And then you were in front of me in line so...it just sort of happened. Probably should’ve known these two would try something stupid, though. So I apologize for that.”

Well that...that explains a shit ton, actually. It explains Steve’s abnormally chill behavior. And the fact that he could navigate through each room like he owned it. And the fact that he practically knew what was coming next. Because he _did_. He did fucking know. And Bucky isn’t sure if realizing that makes him feel relieved or like the biggest idiot in the entire world. “Ya know…” he starts off slowly, “That would’ve been a helpful thing to share with me before going in.”

“Why? Wouldn’t have changed anything.” Because it really wouldn’t have, at least not in any way Steve can think of. “Besides, I figured you’d catch on with the way I was telling you what was inside before we even went in…”

“You know I--” Bucky glances up at Steve’s two friends, noting how the girl waves jokingly. And he doesn’t really need to have this conversation in front of people who already think he’s the biggest baby ever, so he grabs Steve’s hand and drags him over to the side and out of earshot (as far as he knows). “You know how freaked out I was,” he practically hisses, not exactly sure why he’s so mad all of the sudden. Probably just because he’s embarrassed. “How am I supposed to notice that stuff when I’m freaked out?”

Steve shrugs. “I still don’t see why it matters. If you were that freaked out, how would me telling you I worked there do anything different?”

Bucky frowns, not entirely sure himself why he’s making such a big deal about this. “Because--” he says, lips pressed in a hard line as he tries to formulate his thoughts into words, “Because…it just would--”

Suddenly, the exit door slams open, banging against the side of the house while a shout of, “Fucking scared yet, Rogers?” carries across the yard. It’s Tony, still dressed in his ridiculous chainsaw massacre get-up, and apparently hell bent on chasing Steve down until he manages to make the unflinching man at least _react._

“C’mon,” Steve sighs. “Enough is en-” The rest of his response is cut off by a sudden yank on his abdomen, crushing all the air from his lungs as he’s hoisted over Bucky’s shoulder for the second time that night-- Tony still running at them from the house.

Steve lets out this totally indignant squawk, his arms flailing as Bucky books it in the other direction. And Bucky may be pretty startled by seeing his worst nightmare barreling towards him yet again, but there’s a little part of him that’s got Steve over his shoulder because he _wants_ him over his shoulder - kind of gets a kick out of carrying him and listening to his insistent snapping as he hauls him away from the bad guy.

“I gotchya, Stevie,” he grins, smile spread across his face as his breaths turn heavy once again.

And Steve must give up - must accept that this is happening no matter what - because he just props his chin on Bucky’s head, a long suffering sigh escaping from him as they make their way through the night.

Bucky carries him all the way to the parking lot, far away from danger, but not far enough to escape the sound of Steve’s friends laughing their asses off back at the house. But the demon with the chainsaw isn’t following them anymore, so he considers it a victory regardless.

(And he only almost trips once, thank you.)

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> we're both on tumblr, same usernames


End file.
